


From Pawn to Player

by redcandle17



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 06:11:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1734017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcandle17/pseuds/redcandle17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected visitor to the Vale causes Sansa to examine whether Littlefinger can be trusted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Pawn to Player

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this way back in May 2008, but I never did get around to writing the second part. Hopefully posting it here will motivate me to finally finish this fic.

She was leaving the sept when he grabbed her from behind, lifting her clear off the floor. She screamed, but the sound was muffled by the hand he’d pressed over her mouth. Over most of her face, actually; he had a rather large hand. She would have bitten him if she’d been able to get a decent mouthful between her teeth. Instead she flailed her legs, trying to kick him. Although Sansa had suffered many betrayals in her short life and had become wary of people, the last person she expected to be attacked by was a holy brother of the Faith.

“Stop that. It won’t do you any good, and if you hurt my leg, it’ll put me in a foul mood.” 

Sansa froze. That rough voice and the harsh tone were familiar. But what would _he_ be doing here? It was said he was leading a savage band of outlaws in the riverlands. She had heard that he’d put a whole village to the torch, which she had not wanted to believe, and that he’d hanged several Freys, which she had. 

“You won’t scream, will you,” he threatened. 

Sansa nodded as best she could. 

The Hound released her. When she turned to look at him, she wondered how she could ever have mistaken him for a holy servant. He was too tall and too broad to look like anything but a warrior. Of course she would have known him immediately if she’d seen his face, but he’d kept it hidden beneath the hood of his robes. It was still hidden. Sansa reached up and pushed back the cowl. 

He grinned, causing the burnt corner of his mouth to twist oddly. “I’m still ugly, little bird.”

The scars were worse than she remembered. They looked red and hard as leather in the candlelit sept. The stub of his ear that had remained was completely gone now. She forced herself to meet his eyes, braced for the anger that had always been there, and was surprised when she didn’t see it. She wondered what had happened, but it would be rude to pry so she only said, “I am shocked that even you would impersonate a holy man.” Though she shouldn’t be since he’d always been blasphemous. 

Laughing, he gestured to his roughspun brown robes and replied, “This is real. My sins have been cleansed and my soul redeemed, or so the Elder Brother says.” 

Sansa could feel her mouth hanging open and quickly snapped it shut. She searched for something to say. “I am most pleased for you, my lord.” 

He traced the line of her jaw with one callused fingertip, and then stroked her whiteroot-darkened hair. “You’re prettier, girl, but I liked your hair red.” 

Sansa blushed, although she wasn't sure why. People often complimented her beauty, and she usually said something nice in return, but she suspected the Hound would laugh or perhaps turn mean if she did that now. She took a step backward, just out of his reach. “Lady Lysa thought it best to dye my hair so I’d not be recognized.”

“So you’d not look like your mother and inflame her husband’s lust, you mean.” He snorted. “Little bird, if you think people don’t know who you really are, you’re a bigger fool than I ever thought you.” 

The Hound never lied, but he could be mistaken. Alayne was very different from Sansa; she was certain no one knew Alayne Stone was truly Sansa Stark. The memory of the hedge knight Ser Lothor had had to kill rose to mind, but she quickly suppressed it. “Why have you come here, my lord?” she asked him. She would not believe he wanted the reward Cersei Lannister would give for her head; not him. 

There was a bitter edge to his laughter this time. “Bugger if I know.” 

She remembered how he had kissed her when she’d last seen him. _Has he come to the Vale for love of me?_ It was like a song… But life was not a song. And there was another consideration. Littlefinger would be alarmed by his presence when he learned of it. She did not think Ser Lothor or anyone else in her father’s employ could overcome the Hound but she still feared for him. She tried to figure out what Littlefinger would advise her were he not the one she needed to deceive now. 

“I will have to tell my father about you before he finds out for himself,” she said. 

“Your father is dead, girl. Have you lost your wits?”

Sansa frowned at him. “I know my father is dead. I meant Lord Petyr. He says I must think of him as my father to lend the lie a ring of truth when I tell people I am his daughter Alayne.” 

“Do you think of him as your father when he’s fucking you too?”

“He does no such thing!” Her maidenhead was necessary to make a good marriage so Petyr contented himself with kisses and caresses. “I am a maiden!”

“The Imp had a cock, didn’t he? Don't tell me he had some other use for those whores.” 

“We were wed, but I did not want him and he was kind enough not to force me.” 

That surprised the Hound. “I’d heard he was wounded after he set that bloody fire. Mayhaps he was unmanned.” The thought seemed to please him so Sansa did not mention that Tyrion’s manhood had appeared functional. 

“I’ll tell Petyr you’re here, but before he finds a way to get rid of you, I’ll tell him I can entice you into working for us." It was a good plan. Sansa was proud of herself. "Will you play your part?” she asked.

“Pant after you like a dog and slit throats for Littlefinger? Why not.”

It didn’t sound like he’d changed, but he’d said a septon had absolved his sins. Sansa didn’t want him to sin again for her sake. She’d have to find a way to stop it before the game went that far. She smiled at him before she took her leave. “I'm very pleased to see you.” She hurried away before he could say something mocking and ruin the moment. 

 

Petyr rose to greet her with a kiss when she entered his study, and then he resumed his seat and pulled her into his lap. Sansa put her arm around his neck and rested her cheek on the top of his head. He liked when she embraced him like this and she needed him in a good mood. It would be best if he was distracted too. Sansa shifted, squirming around until she felt a hardness poking her bottom. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Father,” she said, “But I was frightened.” 

“What is it, sweetling?”

“The Hound is here. He’s disguised himself as a servant of the Seven. I saw his terrible face when his hood slipped. I don’t think he saw me though.” 

Petyr’s smile disappeared. “Brune said the brother who came begging for a place had a destrier. Pious fools have been giving the clothes off their backs to the Faith since the High Septon seized Cersei, and I assumed the brother’s horse had been a gift from some lord. Clegane is a wanted outlaw. He must hope to win a pardon by delivering you to the Lannisters.”

“You’ll keep me safe, won’t you? Ser Lothor can rid us of the Hound.”

“Brune is good with a sword, but he’s no match for Clegane. We need the Kingslayer for that, or Clegane’s own brother, and one’s lost his sword hand and the other his head.” Petyr’s smile returned, along with the customary air of assurance in his voice. “He would be a valuable weapon to possess if we can buy him.” 

“Can we pay more than the Lannisters? Aren’t they richer than everyone?"

“In gold, yes. However we might be able to offer Clegane more than coin.”

It was time. “He would say things to me,” Sansa whispered, “Whenever Joffrey gave him cause to be alone with me. I…I could pretend I like him and try to entice him into working for us.” 

She could tell Petyr disliked the idea. Before she could think of something persuasive to say, he surprised her by agreeing. “That might work. A dog like Clegane could more easily win a fortune than the favors of a highborn beauty like you. You very well might be his price.” 

Sansa made herself shiver. “He scares me so, Father. But if you think it necessary I will pretend he is handsome and then it won’t be so different from what I do with Harry.” 

Petyr chuckled. “Clegane is no gallant young knight like Harry. He'll not be content with smiles and a kiss or two.” 

_No,_ Sansa thought, _not a smile. It was a song he wanted._ “Then what shall I do?”

“I’ll show you.”

She did not have to feign nervousness.

“First, you must kiss him like you mean it.” He kissed her and Sansa returned the kiss. This she could do. 

“Then when his blood is heated, you must tease him.” He pushed her off his lap and brought one of her hands to the bulge in his breeches. Sansa gingerly caressed him the way he showed her. He pressed her shoulder and Sansa had seen enough maidservants pleasuring knights in the shadows to know what he wanted. She knelt. 

“You must kiss and lick and suckle him until he is mad with lust and will do anything you ask of him,” Littlefinger instructed, unlacing his breeches and holding his manhood out to her. 

Sansa did as he had told her to do, burning with humiliation. She felt like a common wench. If her real parents knew, they would be ashamed of her. But Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn were dead. And, besides, Petyr had said her mother loved him so much she'd given him her maidenhood. Perhaps she had done this for him too. 

“Careful with your teeth, sweetling. Clegane is likely to beat you if you bite him.” 

_“I could keep you safe,”_ he'd told her the night of the battle. _“They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.”_

Petyr didn’t hurt her, but Sansa didn’t doubt that the Hound would kill him if he did. He would do it for _her_ , not for her claim to Winterfell or because she resembled her dead lady mother. It wouldn’t be so bad to do this for _him_ , she thought as Littlefinger’s seed filled her mouth. She spat it out and he chuckled. 

“That doesn’t flatter a man, sweetling. If you really wanted to please, you’d swallow it.” 

“I’m sorry, Father.”

“Rinse your mouth and chew a mint leaf while I think on how we’ll handle Clegane.” He walked back and forth between the fireplace and the window for a while. “It has to be discreet, Alayne. Harry cannot learn that Joffrey’s dog had you or he’ll not want you.”

“Where shall I take him? There is nowhere I am not watched.” She was only ever alone in the godswood, but it was much too cold to do _that_ outdoors. There was the sept as well, but Sansa would not use a holy place for such a sinful purpose. 

“Your bedchamber,” Petyr said. 

“But Randa…”

“Do it during dinner. Plead a stomachache and retire early. I’ll keep Myranda Royce too occupied to run after you.” 

“Everything will be all right, won’t it, Father?”

“Yes, it will,” he said kindly. 

 

Sansa spent the rest of the afternoon with little Lord Robert, who had been confined to his bed yet again by the maester. He demanded story after story until her voice was hoarse. When she ran out of old stories, she had to make up new ones. She usually spun tales from her daydreams about knights and fair maidens, but she was feeling reckless on account of all that had happened today and she told her cousin a different story. 

This one was about a beautiful princess sent to marry a prince whose handsome face concealed an ugly heart. The wicked prince ruled harshly over his kingdom, and his people hated him, and in their hate they became wicked too. They attacked the prince and his court one day and did terrible things to the lords and ladies they caught. The knight guarding the princess abandoned her and the people would have hurt her too, but a man who was not a knight saved her. 

“Did he kill lots of bad people?”

“Yes.” The memory of that day still gave her unpleasant dreams sometimes, but she told Robert the gruesome details little boys liked to hear. He especially enjoyed the part about a wicked man’s hand being cut off. 

“Did the princess marry him and live happily ever after?”

“Yes,” she lied. 

“I could have saved the princess if I’d had a giant falcon like the Winged Knight. When I’m big, I’ll have one, and I’ll save lots of princesses.”

“Yes, you will, Sweetrobin. Now drink your medicine.” 

 

The Hound was angry again and Sansa didn’t know why. He drank the mulled wine she’d been given to settle her supposedly upset tummy and then he sat on the edge of her bed staring into the fire. He couldn’t be afraid of it, could he? It was only a small fire and they needed it for warmth. 

“The Blackfish slipped the Kingslayer’s net,” he said. “Might be he’s on his way here.” 

Brynden Tully was her lady mother’s uncle. He was Robert’s great-uncle too, and he would have a stronger claim to his guardianship than the man Lady Lysa had been briefly married to. It wouldn’t matter. Littlefinger would find a way around him like he had with the Lords Declarant. 

“Petyr has arranged for me to marry Harry the Heir. I will be Lady Arryn after Robert dies, and he says the Vale will fight to win Winterfell back for me.”

“How generous of him.”

“He loved my mother.”

“He loved telling every man in King’s Landing how he fucked your mother when he fostered at Riverrun.” 

Sansa was appalled. “Surely you are mistaken.” 

“About the likes of him?” He snorted. “Not bloody likely.” 

_It’s not true_ , she wanted to say. _Petyr loved my mother and he wouldn’t dishonor her like that._ Yet of the two men, she knew which one was the liar. She thought of telling the Hound what Littlefinger had done earlier, but what would become of her then? The Hound would protect her, but where would they go? 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Littlefinger’s help is the only way I can be a Stark again.”

The Hound said nothing, but his mouth twitched. Sansa wondered if he was angry at her, if he was going to leave the Gates of the Moon and abandon her. Maybe if she did what Petyr had shown her to do, he would stay. But she didn’t want it to be like that with him. She stared wretchedly at her hands, trying to decide what to do. 

“I saw your sister,” he said, stretching out on the bed. 

“Where?” Sansa asked. Petyr had told her that the girl wed to Roose Bolton’s son was an impostor he’d provided from one of his brothels. She’d avoided thinking about what might have become of the real Arya. 

“She was with Beric Dondarrion and his outlaws. They planned to ransom her. They stole my coin, so I stole her to ransom. Didn’t work out that way. We arrived at the Twins during your uncle’s wedding. Barely escaped, no thanks to your sister. The girl tried to run inside the castle and I had to hit her with the flat of an axe. Saved her life, but the little bitch wouldn’t even give me the mercy of a quick knife to the heart.”

“Where is she now?”

“Don’t know. Last I saw her, she was riding off to Saltpans.”

Saltpans was the town that had been ravaged by outlaws. Would the gods be so cruel as to spare Arya from murder at the hands of the Freys only to deliver her to evil outlaws? No, she refused to believe that. Her sister was alive somewhere. Perhaps Petyr could search for her… Though Arya didn’t look at all like their lady mother so perhaps Petyr couldn't care about her. 

“Don’t tell Littlefinger,” she said. “He can’t know.” 

The Hound gave her a look that plainly conveyed what he thought of the notion of himself and Littlefinger chatting about that subject. He reached for her arm and Sansa let herself be dragged across the bed. Not that she could have resisted him anyway; he was very strong. She closed her eyes and waited for him to kiss her. 

He didn’t kiss her. Instead he said, “Sing something, unless you lost your taste for songs when that singer killed your aunt.”

“What shall I sing, my lord?”

“Whatever you’d like, and I’m no more a lord than Littlefinger is your father.” 

It seemed silly not to use his given name when he’d kissed her and then come all this way to see her. “Yes, Sandor.” 

She sang "Florian and Jonquil". Her voice was not as smooth as usual after telling Robert stories all day, but Sandor seemed to like it. He smiled, and closed his eyes when she finished. Sansa had only ever seen him smile or laugh when he was being unkind to someone. “You’ve changed,” she blurted.

“I’ve become a fool, you mean.” 

“No.” She looked at him, as he had demanded she do many times before. _He doesn’t scare me anymore._ He still didn’t make any move to kiss her so Sansa kissed him. She was surprised by how gentle he was when he kissed her back. It wasn’t at all like she remembered. It was very nice so she didn’t understand why he seemed angry when he pulled away moments later.

“That’s enough,” he said. “I’ve spent enough time here to convince Littlefinger you played your part.” 

 

As she walked to Petyr’s study the following morning, Sansa thought of her direwolf Lady, killed at Queen Cersei’s command, and her father Lord Eddard, killed before her eyes on King Joffrey’s order. When Petyr gathered her into his arms and murmured sympathy for the awful thing she’d endured, it was not difficult to cry. 

“My poor sweet Alayne, don’t cry. I know it was terrible, but it was necessary. Bronze Yohn is trying to wed his daughter to our Harry. An attack blamed on the mountain clans while he travels here from Runestone would remove him from our worries. I had intended to have Ser Lyn handle it, but Corbray is valuable as a figurehead against me and I’d rather not risk his death if I can avoid it. Clegane will serve us well in this.”

“What will I do without you when Harry and I are married?” Sansa asked, drying her tears and smiling at him. 

Petyr chuckled. “Have no fear of that, sweetling. I’ll always be here to take care of you.” 

He had been named lord of Harrenhal and lord paramount of the riverlands. When Harry became lord of the Eyrie, Petyr would have no place in the Vale. How could he take care of her when she was here and he was at Harrenhal? There must be more to his plan, but she knew better than to ask. 

Sansa quickly excused herself before his cuddling turned amorous. She spent some time working on embroidery with the other ladies of the castle before Maester Colemon came to fetch her. Robert would not drink his medicine unless Alayne told him a story first. 

“You’re looking much stronger, Sweetrobin,” she lied. “But you’ll be even stronger if you drink your medicine.” 

“I don’t want to. I want a story.”

“When the Winged Knight was a little boy…”

“Not that one. The one you told me yesterday, about the wicked prince getting dung thrown at him and his wicked people killing the High Septon and the man who wasn’t a knight saving the princess.”

Sansa told him the story, troubled that he’d remembered it so well and wanted it again. She should have left details like the High Septon’s murder out of it. If anyone who knew of the bread riots in King’s Landing heard the story, they would recognize it. And Alayne Stone, a bastard girl raised in a motherhouse in Gulltown, shouldn’t know of that event in such detail. 

 

“You shouldn’t have come,” Sansa said to the Hound when she saw him that evening in the sept. He’d made her careless after the long months she’d perfected being Alayne. 

His mouth twitched and she expected him to say something very unkind, but he only said, “Never fear, you’ll get Harry and everything you want. Littlefinger wants me to hire some sellswords and kill Bronze Yohn Royce and his son. I leave in the morning.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “I don’t want you here. Go back to the septry.” 

“No.” 

“Please, Sandor.”

“You know how a stray dog will show up and some fool will feed it once and after that it's impossible to drive it away? That’s what I am, little bird.”

“You’re not a dog and I’m not a bird.”

“You’re no wolf either. Your sister would have slit Littlefinger’s throat by now for the way he betrayed your father.” 

That stung worse than anything else he could have said. Sansa fled the sept without a word to him. 

 

She was unable to sleep that night, though she tried to avoid fidgeting so she wouldn’t disturb Randa. She _was_ a wolf, no matter what Sandor said. She was only pretending to be Petyr’s daughter. She had not forgotten her real father telling stories by the fire at night or her mother sending her maid away and brushing Sansa's hair herself. She still remembered running beside Lady in the godswood and watching Robb and Jon battle each other with wooden swords; trying to talk Bran out of trees so their mother wouldn’t worry, and helping to teach Rickon his courtesies. She remembered her futile attempts to help Arya improve her needlework. 

Arya had fled the Red Keep after Sansa had been locked in a tower room. Sansa remembered with sudden clarity being brought before the Small Council after her lord father had been arrested and their household slaughtered. Petyr had been there. He’d volunteered to take poor Jeyne Poole away. She was Sansa’s dearest friend; if he still had her, why had he not allowed them to see each other? What had become of Jeyne?

“What’s the matter, Alayne? Miss Harry too much to sleep?”

She had disturbed Randa after all. “I’m sorry,” Sansa apologized. “I was thinking of my old friends.”

“At the motherhouse? They would be septas by now, wouldn’t they?”

“Almost. I wonder if they are happy.”

“To be a septa?” Randa laughed. “I should think not; not if their womanly parts work.”

“Yours work all too well,” Sansa teased her. 

“My womanly parts quite enjoyed themselves last night. Your father is a very wicked man and his ‘finger’ is not so little. I could scarcely fit it all in my mouth. Oh, but I’m sorry, Alayne. I shouldn’t tell a maiden such things about her own father.”

Sansa felt as ill as she’d pretended to be yesterday. She climbed out of bed and pulled her warmest cloak over her bedgown, telling Randa she needed something to settle her stomach. 

 

The sept was empty and dark at this hour. Most of the candles had gone out. Sansa lit a fresh candle to the Mother and her own mother’s face came to mind; the face that Petyr told her so often was just like hers. She lit a candle to the Father for her true father and two to the Warrior for Robb and Jon. After a moment’s thought, she lit another candle to the Warrior for Arya. To the Maiden, who watched over the young, she lit candles for her little brothers Bran and Rickon. 

She might have lit a candle for Petyr too, but she could not decide which of the Seven claimed him. She thought perhaps the Crone since he was so clever, but images of Lady Lysa falling and Joffrey choking to death stopped her. _He is the Stranger’s servant._

She knelt before the Crone’s altar and prayed. _Please guide me_. She had played the part of Alayne so well this past year that lies and truth were difficult to separate. 

Petyr was her friend. She could not suspect him of wicked things after all he had done for her. He had arranged to get her out of King’s Landing after the Lannisters made her marry the Imp. 

But she would have been safe in Highgarden wed to gentle Willas Tyrell if his man Ser Dontos hadn’t revealed her secret to the Lannisters. 

He had stopped Lady Lysa from pushing her out the Moon Door and killed her to save Sansa. 

But Aunt Lysa would not have turned against her if Petyr had not kissed her. 

He had helped the Lannisters in the war, not her brother Robb, despite his claims of devotion to Lady Catelyn. He was no true friend to her or her family.

Sansa worried for her sister Arya and her great-uncle the Blackfish. She worried about Sandor too. She didn’t want him doing terrible things for Littlefinger so he could stay with her. What could she do though? She was not like Arya; she couldn’t kill anyone. But she had to do something. 

 

Sandor had been put in the septon’s tiny cell at the back of the sept. He was alone as Sansa knew he would be. It was common knowledge that the septon spent his nights with the cook. Though she walked softly, he awoke as soon as she entered the room. 

“What is it, girl?”

Sansa removed her cloak and shoes and perched beside him on the narrow bed. “I want you to kill Ser Lyn Corbray instead of Lord Royce. He only pretends to oppose Littlefinger; Littlefinger pays him for it. You needn’t _murder_ him either, Sandor. He’s very proud of killing Prince Lewyn of Dorne and he gets angry whenever anyone mentions that Prince Lewyn was already wounded.” Sandor’s tongue could be very cruel and if Ser Lyn attacked him first, it would not be murder. Her old septon had said killing was not a terrible sin if a man was defending himself. 

“Aye, but I’ll not be able to return afterward.”

“Find Ser Brynden Blackfish and bring him here. Tell him Littlefinger killed Lady Lysa. It is the truth.” 

There was a strange note in Sandor's voice when he said, "I don't want to leave you here."

“I’ll be safe until you return," Sansa assured him. "When I am Sansa Stark again, you can be my sworn shield and stay with me always.”

“Sansa’s dog?” He laughed. “Better than Joffrey’s dog.”

 _No,_ she thought, _you’ll be Sansa’s true knight._ But he hated knights so she didn’t say it aloud. “Everything will be all right in the end,” she said. It was a promise, not a lie. 

Sandor kissed her, and this time he was not so gentle. He had her under him before she realized what had happened. Fear only sharpened her desire. He could take her and she would be blameless. There was nothing she could do to stop him. She put her arms around him.

When he broke away, Sansa was confused. He was just braced there above her, breathing raggedly. Perhaps _he_ had sustained some injury that had unmanned him. She gingerly touched the front of his breeches. No, he certainly had not been unmanned. He yanked her hand away. "You'd best go back to your bed, girl."

Part of her wanted to flee to the safety of her bed, but the greater part of her wanted to stay here with him. _I'm safest with him._ "I want to stay," she told him shyly.

"Do you know what you're doing?" he rasped harshly.

"Yes," she whispered. "I want to."

He kissed her hard and squeezed her breasts roughly through her gown. Then he stopped and looked at at her again, as if waiting for her to change her mind and flee. Sansa cupped his face between her hands and raised her lips to his. His response was softer and his touch gentler.

In a moment it would be too late to change her mind. Perhaps she ought not to let him take her after all. She had been taught that a highborn woman's virginity was her finest gift to her husband. Indeed most lords would not wed a woman who was not a maiden. But her lady mother had given her maidenhood to the man she loved. _Mother wouldn't have done anything that wasn't truly right._ Sansa opened her legs and allowed Sandor to slide his hand between them.


End file.
